


More than a Drug Addict

by EccentricAuthors



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Addiction, Doctor - Freeform, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drugs, Johnlock - Freeform, Love, M/M, Mystery, Referenced/Implied Underage Drinking, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock is a drug addict, i can't tag help, toplock, treatment, user
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 11:43:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7169645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EccentricAuthors/pseuds/EccentricAuthors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is more than a drug addict.<br/>He's a John addict.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I'm the second author on this account. This is my first Johnlock fanfiction, so I apologize in advance for OOC characters. I plan on making this a mulitchapter fanfiction. ;3

Sherlock Holmes had often wondered what it was like to not be him. It must be so relaxing.

Unlike most people, whose heads were so empty, Sherlock's head was always crowded with facts, deductions, and so forth.

Sometimes he needed a break from his own mind. Others would say that there is no escape from ones own mind, but the detective had learned from a young age, that wasn't entirely true. It had started with a cigarette, the key to his father's liquor cabinet and some medical needles.

So, this brings us to Sherlock, passed out half naked in some run down drug house. His head was spinning as he looked up at a familiar, rather irritating, face. Mycroft.

"Oh, Sherlock...." Mycroft's voice was concerned, a hint of sadness laced the edges. 

Sherlock could vaguely feel someone, definitely not Mycroft, pick him up and take him out of....wherever he was. The rest was a blur.

When he finally came out of his fog, Sherlock was in his usual suit, sitting in Mycroft's office. His brother was sat comfortably in an awfully large office chair. The atmosphere was oddly serious.

"Mycroft..." Sherlock's own voice startled him, it was hoarse and burned when he tried to speak.

"Sherlock. You've made quite a long list." Mycroft pulled out a slip of paper, a seemingly long list of drugs scribbled down on it. 

The consulting detective stayed silent, a small pang of guilt settling in his stomach. Or maybe it was hunger? He couldn't tell at the moment. 

"I'm sending you to rehab." The office man's words were enough to wipe away any guilt his little brother had felt.

"You won't send me to rehab, your little brother being exposed as a drug addict is a scandal you want to avoid." Sherlock suddenly stood, only to falter for a second, a wave of nausea washing over him.

Mycroft only watched his brother. "Surprisingly, Sherlock, my reputation is no more important than you."

The curly haired man glared at his brother, "There is nothing wrong with me!" 

The elder brother laughed darkly, "There is nothing wrong with you? William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you have been gone for an entire week. Do you know what danger you have put yourself in combining, no, taking these drugs?!" 

Sherlock clenched his fists tightly by his side. "Fine," he spat, "send me to rehab."

"Hm, good. I've already got a doctor that will see you. There's a car waiting outside." Mycroft stood up, motioning for his brother to leave.

"Of course, I should have known." The younger male's tone was icy as he left the room. He strode down the hallway, following a path he had memorized out of the building. Just as his brother Mycroft had said, there was a car waiting to take him away. 

Sherlock climbed into the car wordlessly, slamming the door shut as it pulled away from the curb. He watched as the buildings sped by. 

It only took two hours, twenty four minutes and seventeen seconds to reach a small treatment center called "Marylyedson", Sherlock had counted, in the middle of nowhere. He slowly got out of the car and entered the building. Sherlock took a moment to look around the room, spotting, what he assumed, was the check in desk. A pretty blonde woman greeted the detective with a smile as he approached the desk. 

"Hello, Mr. Holmes. We've been waiting for you." 

"Is that so?" Sherlock replied irritably, looking over the woman. She was wearing a dark blue button up with a black skirt, judging from the name tag pinned on the woman's breast. "Mary" was her name. Mary was rather well put together for someone working a desk job at a treatment center, that was in the middle of nowhere. The two top buttons on her shirt were left open, making it obvious she was trying to impress someone, most likely the doctor that worked here.

"Your paperwork has already been filled out, if you'd like to head back into room sixty-nine, It's right down the hall." Mary pointed towards a hallway with several numbers labeled on the wall.

Sherlock didn't reply, making his way to room sixty-nine. He silently opened the door to the small room and sat down in a chair. The room was painted a cream color, a brown, most likely oak wood desk in the center of the room, a comfy looking chair sitting behind it. The only thing this room lacked was a doctor. The door swung open, interrupting his thoughts and letting in a rather short man. 

"Hello..." The man looked at Sherlock, sitting down behind the desk. 

The detective put his hands together and pressed them in front of his lips, deducing the man in front of him.

"Mr. Holmes, I'm Dr. John Watson. I'll be overseeing your treatment."


	2. Afghanistan or Iraq?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hear there might be canon Johnlock in Sherlock season four?

Sherlock ignored the shorter man's previous statement. “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Pardon?”

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock Holmes repeated.

“I don’t...see how that is relevant to our conversation.” Dr. Watson tried to avoid the subject.

The detective sighed loudly, leaning back in his chair.

“Mr. Holmes, if you retrain yourself from making off hand remarks, maybe we could get somewhere with your treatment plan.”

Sherlock glared at the doctor. “I don’t need treatment, I don’t want to even be here.”

Ignoring his response John continued, “Your brother informed me that you've been off and on drugs most of your life, so I was thinking that we would start with therapy and work from there.” 

The male inhaled sharply. “Fine.”

“Yes, good...so would you like to tell me more about yourself then?”

“No, I wouldn’t. You already know about me, that file on your desk says so.” He snapped at Dr. Watson.

The doctor was slightly irritated by his new patient. “Mr. Holmes…”

Sherlock cut off Watson, “Sherlock.”

“...Sherlock, don’t make this any harder than it has to be. Your brother and I both want to help you, resisting won’t help.”

The curly haired male thought about his options and chose to stay silent.

Dr. Watson sighed, smiling. “Think about it, but right now I’d like to show you to where you’ll be staying while you're here. So, please follow me.” 

With that John lead Sherlock out of his office and down another hall, going deeper into the building. They crossed a small indoor garden and stopped by a door with a plate on it that said “Sherlock Holmes”. 

“Sherlock, this is your room.” John pushed open the door to reveal a larger room with a kitchenette to the left of the room, a smaller living room and a door, which Sherlock assumed, was the bedroom.

“Dull.” Sherlock muttered to himself, memorizing all the little details of the room. He wandered around the space, it wasn't very fancily decorated, the walls were a creamy white and there was very little furniture. A little statue of a elephant sitting on the living room’s table, however was an interesting touch.

“Tomorrow at nine-thirty you should head to my office for our first session. Ah, and, we will have weekly searches of the room, so… don’t think about anything.” The male looked at Sherlock in the eyes.

The other didn’t look back. “Nine-thirty, got it.”

“Alright, then I'll leave you to...get comfortable.” Saying that, John Watson left Sherlock alone in the room.

Sherlock started to pace around his new room, he could feel the boredom suddenly start sinking in. 

Boredom was the cause of all of this, because when Sherlock was bored his mind started to think. His mind would be running a thousand miles per hour with no destination in sight, setting up improbable situations and scenarios. There was no sensor on these thoughts, nothing to stop the invasion, no distraction. 

Sherlock glanced at the clock, hoping for an excuse to sleep. Eight-thirty. Had time really gone by so fast? It seemed like just a few minutes ago he had met Dr. John Watson. Watson had piqued Sherlock’s interest the moment he stepped into the room. The way he walked said military man, his tan that ended at his wrists says he’d been abroad, but not on vacation. So, where does a man get such a tan when he’s not on vacation? Perhaps the military, the only war he looked old enough to have served in would be Afghanistan or Iraq.The fact that John had refused to answer the question lead him to believe something bad had happened there. Where had he gone? Afghanistan or Iraq? The question nagged at his mind. 

“Gah…” He groaned and shrugged off his clothing and changing into some pajamas, which he had found were his. Mycroft had really planned his stay here. The male shut the door to his bedroom and laid down, curling up on top of the sheets. Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing.  
Surprisingly it worked, and the detective slipped into a restless sleep.


	3. Play The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John doesn't want to play the game, but he already is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter was hard for me to write. I actually got stuck, but my cousin helped me. Enjoy! (Warning: Next chapter may contain mature content)

It was nine-forty five when Sherlock Holmes woke up. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be late, or not show up at all, but when he saw the time he sprung out of bed. The man pulled on his usual suit and bolted out the door. The reason he took his tardiness seriously was all but a mystery to him, he was probably just bored.

Swiftly swinging open the door to Dr. Watson’s office, Sherlock looked around, noticing that the desk that used to sit in the middle of the room was now pressed up against the wall. Instead, two faded, red chairs were taking up the space.

“I assume you know you're late, Sherlock?” Watson’s voice was soft, but had a harder edge to it.

“I do…” He blinked, closing the door and sitting in one of the chairs.

“Well, I suppose it’s better late than never.” The male breathed, scribbling something most likely negative about Sherlock.

“Yes…”

“So, let's begin with when this all started.”

Sherlock scowled at John. “Oh, come on Doctor, don’t you think this is a little boring?”

“Boring? How is your addiction boring, Mr. Holmes?” John frowned at his patient.

Mr. Holmes again? How irritatingly formal. “Let’s play a game. For every question you ask me, I’ll ask you.”

The doctor hesitated, licking his lip in thought. “I take my work very seriously. I don’t want to play this game of yours.”

In his agitation, Sherlock leaned forward out of his chair and grabbed John’s wrist, pressing his lips against his ear. “Hm, but you want to play, you're awfully bored aren't you? Play. The game.” The detective’s voice was dripping with appetence.

The doctor shivered at the male’s closeness. “...Please sit back in your chair...so we can begin.” His voice cracked slightly.

Sherlock smirked and sat back into his chair, crossing his legs. “Yes, you first, Dr. Watson.”

Watson sat silent for a moment, processing something. “Ah. So, tell me then, when the first incident happened.”

The curly haired detective thought for a moment. “I was thirteen years of age when I mixed drugs, cigarettes and alcohol.” He kept his answer short and to the point.

“Your turn.” his doctor muttered, writing something down.

Mr. Holmes put his hands together, resting them under his nose. “Where were you deployed? Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John paused and chuckled, shaking his head a little. “It bothered you that much? Not knowing where I was deployed? I didn’t think such small things bothered Sherlock Holmes!”

“Oh, shut up. Answer the question.” The detective stared intensely.

“Afghanistan…now tell me why you tried these substances.”

Sherlock tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, “Boredom. I was bored, doctor...perhaps you could entertain me?” he added the last part.

The doctor stiffened up at Sherlock Holmes’s words, the agitation clearly showing in his face. “I’ve had enough of this game for today, you can leave now...Sherlock.”

The curly haired detective blinked, making note of Watson’s reaction to his words. Sherlock deemed the information valuable for later purposes and tucked it into a small folder labeled ‘John H. Watson’ in his mind palace. “I’ll be leaving, Doctor.” And with that, he left the doctor alone to think about his patient.

When Sherlock had made it back to his room, he found a tray of food left out on his kitchen counter. The tray held a serving of what he deduced was broccoli and a chunk of chicken. It was obviously government provided, likely left by the staff. “No thanks…” he muttered, ignoring the food and wandered into his living room where he sprawled out on the couch.

It was quiet. The male was certainly surprised by the calmness of his mind, normally thoughts would flood in from all angles and drown out the silence. But, this time, Sherlock thought of only one thing, one man. John Watson.


	4. Carnal Desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock deals with his carnal desires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter will contain dipictions masturbation. 
> 
> I finally finished this chapter! I'm actually happy with how this turned out, sorry it's a short chapter. – Em

Sherlock Holmes hated nights like these, when his body was consumed in an unbearable heat and his trousers seemed too tight. The detective had fallen asleep thinking about his doctor, John Watson, and had been awoken by his own...inappropriate dream. Even in his awoken state Sherlock's mind conjured up explicit images of John. These thoughts were what created the heat, and completely shut down his process of thinking. The mind palace had turned into a small room, much like an iron box, that was keeping all reasoning out. The male was vaguely familiar with this 'iron box'. It was where he kept his...carnal desires. 

Sherlock groaned softly and rolled onto his side, the slight movement causing the fabric of his pants to rub against his arousal. 

Shower. A cold shower. It was the perfect cure for an unwanted erection. 

The curly haired detective slid off the couch and rushed off into the bathroom. Flipping on the shower and turning the nob towards the cold side, he fumbled with his clothes. Once fully naked, Sherlock stepped into the cold shower with a hiss. The cold water was hitting him, all he could do was will it away.

After what seemed like forever, Sherlock's erection stayed. The damn thing didn't /want/ to go away. 

"Dammit...." He grumbled, settling for his, shamefully, favorite option. Leaning against the shower wall and wrapping a pale hand around his member, he stroked.

Spikes of pleasure ran up his spine, fresh images of John flooding into his mind. John pinning Sherlock to one of those stupid looking therapy chairs and taking him seemed to be Sherlock's favorite thought. 

Speeding up his strokes, the male worked through his erection. Soft moans and whimpers escaping his lips.

It felt so /good/.

Leaning back against the wall, his thighs were shaking as he neared the edge. Sherlock shuddered and came, confused sperm flying out and landing in the water. 

"John..." He breathed, shame instantly flooding over him as the high from orgasm left. Sherlock Holmes was thinking about his doctor. A doctor he /just/ met. But, it felt so good. So right. 

The man turned off the shower and reached for a soft fluffy towel under the sink. Carefully wrapping it around his waist he exited the bathroom and shuffled into the kitchen, he was suddenly feeling like eating the food that was left on the counter. Before he reached the kitchen he was met with Dr. Watson, awkwardly shuffling some papers on the dull white couch Sherlock had been sleeping on.

"Oh, hey. I just thought I'd bring by some...papers." John looked up.

"What papers?" The detective asked, tying the towel tighter around his hips.

"Just...ah...some papers I had Mycroft sign. I don't need them anymore." 

Sherlock frowned slightly. "Are you making up an excuse to come see me, John?"

The smaller man stiffened, standing up. "Of course not! This is strictly business." 

It was painfully obvious that this whole situation was not 'strictly business', frustrating Holmes. Taking a couple steps forward he snatched the papers from John. 

"Let me have them then..." The sudden realization of their height difference hit Sherlock hard in the face. 

The doctor's face was looking up at Sherlock, a irritated expression causing wrinkles in his forehead. John was so close and so short. Everything about this man seemed...extraordinary.

"Sherlock...?"


End file.
